


Firestarter

by DaggerStar



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Circus, Fire Dancing, M/M, all my D&D characters have tragic backstories, circus performing, fire performing, some gore, young gay love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 07:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaggerStar/pseuds/DaggerStar
Summary: Theldrum & Ynk's Many Wonders circus has one helluva fire show.





	Firestarter

**Author's Note:**

> Here's Mikha'il's Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/b4jj0n9erk9blzs6aoortzk6u/playlist/283WwzPEr91q5TuhycnV9A?si=INSLB0DeT4-aMjapx4TYWA

   Mikha’il Amari was adopted and raised in a circus by two half-elf women. Kadwa and Hasina were performers, more specifically aerial silk dancers. The two women did a duel act together, seemingly flying in the air on their colourful silks. It was truly a sight to see, and the opening for the main act of Theldrum and Ynk’s Many Wonders circus. The main act for the circus, and young Mikha’s personal favourite, was a grand duel between talented wizards. It was a scripted duel, of course, but that didn’t make it any less awe inspiring. Flashes of magic, glyphs, missiles. Images danced around the big top like a moving storybook, giving a background to the duel. Sometimes it was a brave soldier fighting a mighty dragon, other times it was two would-be kings fighting for the throne. Any way the story went, it was spectacular, and put Many Wonders on the map so to speak.

 

   Kadwa and Hasina are both half-elves and, despite the circus being generally multicultural and diverse, they didn’t know enough about their son’s heritage to teach him anything. Mikha’il knew he was a genasi, but didn’t know what that entailed until the very first time he produced a flame from his hand. He was throwing rocks by a river near the circus when the rock caught on fire as he threw it. Mikha’il was so surprised that he ran straight into his parents’ tent and told them all about it. The eight year old had just discovered his act. That night, Mikha trained with the fire dancers of the circus, watching and learning all he could. When he had tried to mimic them, he dropped some of the embers on himself. He had expected pain, but they just sizzled down. So he got ballsier. Soon enough, Mikha’il Amari was a daring performer that took risks the others couldn’t. Mikha would play on his lute and recite stories of old while skipping around on hot coals. He’d produce fire from his bare feet and dance around the heat. The audience would watch as flaming cloths and whips twirled around him when the story got to its climax. When Mikha’il used his magic, his red hair turned into bright orange fire and his eyes glowed bright. Every time, the audience would eat it right up.

 

   One night, after a show, Mikha had a visitor. A blonde human, barely his senior, with beautiful brown eyes. He held a red rose nervously in one hand and fiddled with his shirt hem with the other. Mikha’il looked up from his vanity where he was taking off his face paint and smiled at the other boy.

 

“Hey!” he greeted the human.

 

“H-hi. I saw your act tonight. It was really cool. Not, um, literally though. Since… you work with fire,” he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

 

Mikha laughed a bit and said, “Come on in, you don’t need to be so nervous.”

 

   The blonde human teetered on his toes for a moment before stepping into the tent. Mikha’il shared it with his parents since the circus was bigger than the tents, but Hasina and Kadwa were doing their act together at that moment. The other boy walked in, looking around at the somewhat garish decoration. Mikha patted a cushioned stool next to him and continued washing his face. The blonde sat down and hummed. He perked up a tad suddenly, and presented the rose.

 

“I picked you this! From my garden. It, uh, reminded me of your hair.”

 

   Mikha’il took it gently in his hand and turned it around. He smiled when he saw that the thorns had been meticulously picked off, even the really small ones near the actual flower. He sifted around his vanity for a vase, but had to put the rose in an old ale bottle with resign. When he peered back to his guest, he was picking at his nails absentmindedly.

 

“The rose is, uh, very nice. It was thoughtful of you. What’s your name?” Mikha’il asked, beginning to blush.

 

“Oliver! I live just twenty minutes from here, on a small farm.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

 

“How does… someone become part of a circus?” Oliver asked after a beat, looking up at Mikha.

 

“Why, thinkin’ about joining?”

 

“No, nothing like that,” he chuckled, “You just seem so comfortable on stage.”

 

“I grew up here, around all the performing. This nomadic drama is my home,” he explained with a soft smile.

 

“When are you packing up?”

 

“This was our last show here,” Mikha’il nearly whispered.

 

“Oh.”

 

   Silence fell over the two of them suddenly. Mikha started back up on washing his face in the small bowl of water in front of him. After he was done, he looked himself over in the mirror, inspecting his grey skin for any spots of paint he might’ve missed.

 

“Here,” Oliver cut in.

 

   Oliver took the rag from the young genasi’s hand and leaned in. He scrubbed under his red sideburns. Mikha’il felt the human’s breath on his neck, and he reached over to grab Oliver’s hand. The two looked at each other with anticipation. Suddenly, Kadwa and Hasina walked into the tent, arms around each other. The two elven women stopped and looked at the two boys with smirks before crossing their arms.

 

    “Mikha, could you get us a fresh bowl of water?” Kadwa requested, already peeling off some gold leaf from her cheeks.

 

“Sure thing, ma.”

 

   The sixteen year old sat up and took Oliver’s hand, leading him out of the tent with him and grabbing the bowl of water on the way. They giggled as they walked, hand-in-hand. The two young men chatted idly for some time, and Mikha’il soon forgot about the bowl of water he was supposed to bring to him moms.

 

   That morning, Mikha’il awoke with a feeling of emptiness. Oliver had left that night, back to his farm, and now the circus was packing up to leave. He touched his lips as he remembered their quick goodbye kiss. Mikha smiled. The genasi got out of his sleeping bag and begun packing up his things. The wagons were already mostly full, so he tied his bags to the sides of one of the oxes and hopped on top of the pile of cloth. The wagons carried on for some time until a road bump made the one Mikha sat in jump.

 

“Ow!,” gasped a voice from beneath the pile.

 

Mikha’il furrowed his brows and called out, “Hello?”

 

“...Mikha’il?” asked a familiar tone.

 

“Oliver?”

 

   A blonde head popped out from beneath all the gaudy cloth with a wide grin on his face. Oliver explained how he ran away from his farm after writing a note to his parents and three siblings about how he met a boy he truly felt was right for him. Mikha blushed and pulled Oliver in for a kiss. The two of them rode all the way to the next city together. When Kadwa and Hasina found out, they were cross with their son and debated taking Oliver back home, but saw the looks on both boys’ faces; a look that both women remembered coming from each other some time ago. So they took in the seventeen year old human. Oliver helped with decorating the stage before performances, and taking things down afterwards. Each night, he’d watch his boyfriend practice his fiery acts.

 

   Until one night, the act went wrong. Mikha’il was performing on stage under the big top in front of a large audience. People of all kinds and ages watched in awe as flames circled him like wolves hunting their prey. Mikha’il played a viol violently, staving away the fire. Before long, one of the flaming whips grabbed his wrist. He dropped his viol and yelled. Another whip attempted to grab his other whip, but he spun around. Mikha’il danced a deadly waltz with his fire. His red hair caught a bright orange and yellow as he and the fire struggled in a battle. Mikha rolled on the ground and took the viol back into his arms. As he ran the bow across the catgut, Mikha peered into the audience and saw two gorgeous brown eyes staring back at him and a warm smile spread across rosy cheeks. He felt a deep grey blush creep up on him as if this was the first time the two had laid eyes on each other.

 

   Without warning, one of the flaming whips popped. Without the concentration of Mikha’il, it had flown against the wooden post holding up the big top and crashed into it. The explosion sent sparks everywhere. The wood post creaked slightly and leaned where it had been charred. The remaining whips snapped at various parts of the red and white tarping, setting it aflame.

 

“Everyone get out!” Mikha’il yelled over the panic.

 

   People fled out of the tent, stepping over each other. As the fire raged, a couple people attempted to stay behind to help put it out. Some tieflings tried to concentrate on lessening the flames, but the magic fought back against their natural thaumaturgy. Mikha also tried to take back control of the fire, his hair burning blue as he used all the magic in his blood to stop the spread. Hot pieces of tarp and wood fell to the ground. When he looked around, he saw people trapped under debris, some conscious and some unconscious. Eventually, everyone remaining inside the tent ran outside coughing. The fire was able to be contained to just the big top, luckily, but there were still people inside who burned. Mikha’il let tears pour down his cheeks. He watched as people brought buckets of sand, dirt, and water to put out the remaining embers. All of the performers as well as Theldrum Lightforge and Ynk Vexgri themselves gathered around the burnt remains of the big top, shocked at the event that just unfurled. When Mikha’il spotted his parents safe and sound, something shook him.

 

“Oli!” he shouted. “Oliver!”

 

   No answer. He ran up to the remains and shouted his boyfriend’s name again. And again. No one answered him and he dug through the still hot charcoal. He felt hair in his hand suddenly, and saw the unmistakable golden locks he’d grown to love so much. The charcoal burned his hands, but he didn’t care. Mikha’il screamed. Half of Oliver’s face was melted away, revealing bone and blackened meat. Mikha pulled on Oliver’s shoulders, lifting him out of the rubble. The bottom of his torso was scorched and smelled of barbeque, and as Mikha’il pulled, the fleshed pulled apart. The young genasi screamed Oliver’s name over and over again, begging this to be a nightmare. Praying to the gods to bring his love back to him. From Oliver’s jacket pocket fell a seared wooden box. As it hit the ground, it opened and revealed a simple golden band. Mikha’il took it in his shaking hands and stared. He felt the gentle hands of his parents on his shoulders, pulling him backwards. His hands were burnt. Gripping the band sent white hot pain up his arms, but Mikha’il held on for dear life. Once he was dragged out of the debris, he fell to his knees and began hyperventilating.

 

   The next morning, the twenty-one year old packed up his things, took an ox, and left Many Wonders. He wrote his moms a note explaining that he couldn’t stay in a place he’d caused so much harm to, and that he needed time away. The road to the next city was bumpy. Mikha'il Amari held the simple gold band in his hand with tears in his eyes before eventually placing it on his left ring finger.


End file.
